Growing up, Megan Yim thought everyone had to learn piano. She was raised in an environment where weekly lessons and daily practicing were as expected as eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But the years have revealed to Megan that the gift of music is exactly a gift. It is a luxury and a privilege that not everyone has access hearing it, learning it, but most of all sharing it. What does being a classically trained musician mean? What are the responsibilities? The duties? In Vignettes of a Pianist, Megan retells and recreates the moments that are felt behind the scenes, the ones that are not applauded or awarded. Moments that most individuals forget, or they may not even have knowledge of; the walk up to the stage before a performance, the wait outside the examination room, or the drive to a piano lesson you did not practice for. To play and create classical music is a gift to be cherished and shared, and Megan hopes she can share hers.
So relatable, it got me thinking back to when I was in similar situations. Was literally tabbing every page…to turn back to when I feel more detached from my instrument. Everyone should read this, whatever instrument you play.
First selection of vignettes read, and loved every one of them. As someone with a background in music, almost all of Yim's vignettes were relatable, and her experience and love of music truly shows throughout the collection.
Lovely book, but unfortunately don’t think it was for me :(
Going into the novel, which introduced itself as a collection of vignettes, I think I expected something a lot more atmospheric and reflective. Like snapshots of time that recount little moments across the years in a homely manner while also giving the reader the space to think back on their own past and upbringing. Though Yim’s voice was bright and at times a humorously dry tone (like the brief comments towards the beginning on renowned classical artists and western society’s idolizations of very specific figures), I found that there was an utter lack of subtlety in conveying her revelations. It often felt as though I was reading meditations, having conclusions spelled out for me in big bold letters. Every chapter opened with Yim recollecting something of her past, then asserting what that moment meant to her as an artist. Though direct, I found the format took away from the storytelling.
My favourite chapter in fact was one I thought made better use of indirect story telling, comparing the effort, practice, and care an artist puts into their performance to pencil markings on a sheet of music. Allowing for the reader to better soak in the metaphor of eraser debris, the message was able to ring more resonantly with the readers. The pressure on artists through every performance because they are the only window to our progress to an audience who can’t see the numerous notes scrawled across the sheet which had by then been wiped off, leaving nothing but a pile of eraser crumbs. The message stuck, along with the image of a parent sitting at a nearby coffee shop to wait for a lesson to end to drive us home at the beginning.